


Still Living With Your Ghost

by angryhausfrau



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, and bj is repressed, hawkeye has some serious issues, kind of a road trip fic if you squint, sort of unrequited feelings, this is not particularly happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryhausfrau/pseuds/angryhausfrau
Summary: My brain decided I was going to listen to Everclear's Santa Monica on repeat and I got some serious Hawk/Beej feelings about it. This is the result.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	Still Living With Your Ghost

Hawkeye shows up on BJ's front porch one year, two months, three days, and seven hours after the Korean war ends. And he looks - Jesus, he looks _rough_. Tired and pale and wearing army boots and his blue Hawaiian shirt. He looks like a ghost.

BJ can't not invite him in, even though it's the middle of the night and Hawkeye can't really seem to explain what he's doing in California beyond something about wanting to see palm trees. So BJ gets him tucked into bed in his and Peg's unused guest room – still mostly empty even though the house has been finished for a while now. But it doesn't appear to matter much to Hawkeye, he passes out pretty much the minute his head hits the pillow.

BJ wakes up the next morning, sure that all of this had been a particularly vivid dream. But there Hawkeye sits, in BJ's living room, flipping and flipping and flipping through the television channels at whatever ungodly hour Erin has decided is morning.

BJ rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Morning, Hawk. Sleep well?”

“Morning, BJ.” Hawkeye springs up from the sofa, like he used to spring out of his army cot. Like he's just been sitting there, waiting for BJ to wake up so he can drag him into whatever mischief he's dreamed up.

But this isn't Korea. BJ doesn't play those kind of pranks anymore.

And it doesn't look like Hawkeye is going to answer BJ's question. So BJ just works on getting the coffee percolating and making sure Erin doesn't throw cream of wheat _all_ over the kitchen.

Peg drifts out of their bedroom a little later, takes a piece of toast from the table, kisses BJ on the cheek, collects Erin out of her high chair, and breezes out the door. Off to meet with a client, probably. Which means that BJ's stuck staring at a fidgeting Hawkeye from across the table, silence stretching awkward and molasses thick between them.

“So, uh, how you been, Hawk?” BJ thumbs at a chip in the Formica of the table top.

“Oh, you know. Busy. Doctoring.” Hawkeye is looking wildly around the kitchen and he hasn't touched any of the food on his plate. “Looks like you've really been living the high life here, Beej. Look at this place! Nice, real nice, BJ. You're a lucky guy.”

“Yeah, yeah I sure am.”

“And you're still a surgeon? Working at a hospital and everything?” Hawkeye's now looking intently at a point just slightly to the left of BJ's eyes, expression fixed in something that could be described as a smile, maybe.

“Yep. Nothing as exciting as Korea, though. I took out a gallstone two days ago, and that's been the highlight of my week.”

Hawkeye laughs, too loud and too sharp. And he's back to looking wildly around the kitchen, peering into the living room, rocking sideways in his chair far enough to almost overbalance. “That's nice. Not exciting is nice. Boring. Quiet.”

“Yep.”

Hawkeye is now tearing his paper napkin to little shreds that he's sprinkling over his eggs like snow.

“Look, Hawk. Not that it's not great to see you and all. But what are you doing here?”

Hawkeye goes back to staring at the point just slightly to the side of BJ's face. “Oh, you know. Thought I'd drop in on my good buddy. And see some sun, some sandy beaches – you're a little lacking on both fronts here, Beej. I confess myself disappointed. This isn't the California all those travel brochures promised me. Swimsuits and suntans. Palm trees.” Hawkeye waves his arms wide, gaze rocketing around the kitchen. “Where are they, BJ? Where are the palm trees?”

BJ laughs. “You're a little far north for that kind of thing. We mostly have rain and fog.”

Hawkeye nods. Grimaces. “I hate the rain. We spent years and years and years in the rain. Or the snow. So many years.” Hawkeye's staring again. “You know how cold it gets in northern Maine? I want. I wanted some sun, you know? A change of scenery.”

“Well, since you're in California already, you could drive south, you know. It's a ways, but you could go find a beach and some palm trees, like you said.”

Privately, BJ thinks a little sun would do Hawkeye a world of good. He's looking even paler than usual. Wan. Tired. Like he hasn't been sleeping.

“Yeah? You think so?” And Hawkeye looks up at BJ with such hope in his eyes. It's blinding. Terrifying.

So that's how BJ finds himself in the family station wagon with Hawkeye lounging practically sideways on the front seat, staring out the rainy window at San Francisco as they head south on Route 5 towards warmer climes.

“You know, I've never been to San Francisco,” Hawkeye says conversationally. They're driving through down town, and the tall edifices bear down on them like giants. Hawkeye has to keep his neck craned up, up, up to get even a glimpse of the gunmetal sky. “I've been to San Diego. Spent a whole weekend there when I was in med school. But I never quite made it to San Francisco, somehow. Surprising, I know...” Hawkeye trails off with a vague gesture.

“It's a nice city,” BJ says, inanely. But he's not quite sure what's happening here. And small talk is about all that's left to him.

Hawkeye smiles, sharp as a knife. And there's something lurking there behind his eyes that BJ can't identify. “I'm sure it is.”

They drive in silence for a while.

Suddenly, Hawkeye's head snaps down and to a street that runs towards the bay. “What's down there, Beej?” He asks it almost desperately.

“Uh, the docks I think.”

Hawkeye nods. Tips his head towards the ocean like he's listening to something far away. His eyes skitter over the dashboard desperate and wild.

“Lotta kids shipped out of those docks the last two wars,” Hawkeye says, apropos of nothing that BJ can understand. “Lotta kids who never got to come back home.”

“Uh, yeah. Though I guess they were hard up enough for doctors that they sent me over on a plane instead.”

Hawkeye nods distractedly, knee jostling against the passenger door. He's staring out the window again.

“Hey, Beej, pull over will ya? I really need a drink.” He gestures at a bar that BJ probably wouldn't have even noticed if Hawkeye hadn't pointed it out. BJ pulls over. He could use a drink himself. He'd forgotten how – how strange and alluring and _difficult_ Hawkeye could be.

The bar is dead this time of day. Empty except for a few older men who look like they've probably been sitting on those same bar stools for the past decade or so.

Sitting at a shadowed corner table with a bottle of bottom shelf gin and BJ can almost believe he's back in the Swamp. That no time at all has passed since Korea. Hawkeye is certainly drinking like that's true. It's almost nice, the nostalgia that's carried on gin fumes.

And Hawkeye has calmed down a little as he sits there, no longer looking like he's going to crawl out of his skin. In fact, he looks almost wistful as BJ chatters on about Peg and Erin and his life in Mill Valley. Though what part of all that it is he longs for, BJ doesn't know. He'd never expressed much interest in marriage or kids before. But maybe he's finally looking to settle down.

BJ muses on the impossibility of a settled Hawkeye while the real one heads off to the bathroom. The bar has filled up in the intervening hours and it's hard for BJ to keep track of his skinny frame and dark hair, even as tall as he is. Though Hawkeye's usual slouch has gotten even more pronounced than it was in Korea and that doesn't help matters any.

BJ wonders what exactly happened to him to change him so much. To wear Hawkeye down like he's been.

But before he can think too long on it – before he can become maudlin – Hawkeye's back at their table and putting a wad of crumpled bills down on the scarred surface. Clearly a sign that he's ready to leave.

They troop a little unsteadily out to the car.

“So, how'd you find our fair city?” BJ asks as they pull out into rush hour traffic. The had really slipped away from him in the warm dark of the bar. He'd had no idea it was so late.

“Well, I can now say I've sampled all of the bountiful pleasures that San Francisco has to offer.” Hawkeye grins bright and sharp even through the alcohol. “So what's say we blow this joint and go find some nice sandy beach somewhere? Preferably a nude one.”

BJ grins at him and turns onto the highway.

They drive past rocky coastlines and pine covered mountains. BJ thinks Hawkeye falls asleep about an hour or so in, his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, eyes closed and face marginally more peaceful. But it's hard to tell.

At some point, though, Hawkeye jerks upright, looking around frantically, as if trying to figure out where he is.

Where they are is the vast empty farmland west of Mendota. Hawkeye spends a few miles staring out at the fields as they blur past the window. BJ leaves him to it.

In all honesty, BJ is starting to wonder if this was the best idea. Hawkeye seems scattered and distracted and manic like he was at the end of the war. Like he'd been after the bus and before he'd been committed.

Maybe BJ should have kept him in San Francisco. Called Sidney. Gotten Hawkeye some help instead of driving hundreds of miles to some unknown destination for some unknown agenda.

But they've already come this far. It would be dumb to turn around now.

“Did you know,” Hawkeye says in a voice that can barely be heard above the radio and the incessant thrum of the tires on asphalt. He clears his throat and tries again. “Did you know that during the Great Depression they used to gather all the unsold fruit and pour gasoline on it so that the starving people fleeing the Dust Bowl couldn't eat it?”

Hawkeye's staring intently at the side of BJ's face, more than wide awake. And maybe BJ spoke too soon.

“Uh, no. I had no idea.”

Hawkeye goes back to looking out the window. “I always thought that would be a terrible way to go,” he whispers so quietly, BJ isn't even sure he's talking to him.

A few miles later, they hit a town big enough to have a diner. Hawkeye's still quiet and staring, and it's past seven anyway. They may as well stop and get some dinner. Hawk hasn't really eaten anything but a handful of pretzels all day.

They both order cups of coffee and BJ watches Hawkeye add something out of a hip flask into his mug. Hawkeye obviously catches BJ looking and waggles the flask in his direction, offering. BJ holds out his own cup. This is feeling... This is feeling a little too close to Korea, all of a sudden, even though they're smack dab in the middle of California. And the liquor burns harsh and familiar down BJ's throat.

He coughs. “You make this yourself, Hawk?”

Hawkeye grins. “A guy's gotta have a hobby. And most of mine dried up after the war.”

BJ assumes he's referring to chasing nurses. He sure spent enough time at it – even if he was never all that successful.

Before BJ can get too far into asking Hawkeye about his triumphs or trials in the pursuit of the fairer sex – always sure to elicit an amusing (or steamy) anecdote – the waitress returns to take their order.

Hawkeye gets a hamburger and french fries. BJ orders a chicken sandwich and Hawkeye flinches so he orders a hamburger instead. And when the food gets there, Hawkeye devours his meal ravenously while BJ chats about Erin's recent trials with attending daycare since Peg is out of the house some days for her real estate career.

Hawkeye's obviously not one for conversation tonight, so BJ just keeps talking about his wife and his life and his beautiful, perfect, wonderful daughter. And Hawkeye sits in the booth, leg jittering against the tabletop and he tears his napkin into shreds and lets them snow down onto his empty plate. And when the waitress stops by again to top up their coffees, Hawkeye drinks about half the cup all in one go and then refills it with moonshine.

He's so alike and unlike the Hawkeye from Korea. The Hawkeye BJ knows more intimately than pretty much anyone other than his wife. And BJ can catch glimpses of that man in Hawkeye's gestures or his terrible honking laugh. But in a lot of ways he's a complete stranger. And it's difficult to sit there in the diner – in the real world – with this man that's half myth and half ghost and from a part of BJ's life that he'd honestly rather forget.

It's almost a relief to settle up and get back in the car. Hawkeye isn't asleep, BJ doesn't think. But he is quiet and still and content to just stare out the window into the empty dark.

In the car, in the dark, nothing is real. It's not like the harsh light of the diner where he can _see_ Hawkeye. Here, BJ can pretend that nothing about what's happening is strange. He can pretend everything is normal.

But eventually it gets late enough that he's got to stop driving or he's going to fall asleep at the wheel and run them both into a ditch. BJ pulls into the first motel he comes across. And it's shabby and rundown, but a far sight better than a tent in Korea, which is where he half expects to collapse tonight, stuck as he is between past and present, waking and dreaming.

The only problem is that there's only the one bed.

BJ offers to sleep on the floor. But Hawkeye says he's being stupid and that it's not like they haven't slept together before. Which, that's stretching the truth a little. But BJ doesn't really want to sleep on the floor.

So that's how he finds himself laying in bed with Hawkeye - who's obviously still awake, BJ can see the gleam of his eyes in the dark – and feeling intensely awkward about it. It's a double bed, but they're both tall. BJ could probably fill up the bed all on his own. It's difficult to keep from touching Hawkeye - especially because if this were him and Peg, BJ would be spooning his wife, curling around her back, holding her in his arms. And BJ hasn't really slept with anyone other than her for a long time. Which is why he has to fight himself not to do the same with Hawkeye. A Hawkeye who's whispering a soft goodnight into the darkness between them.

BJ turns to face away from him and tries to go to sleep.

He wakes up to Hawkeye sitting bolt upright in bed, tears streaming down his face, absolutely dead silent as he cries.

BJ reaches a tentative hand out, lays it whisper light on Hawkeye's shoulder. “You ok, Hawk?”

Hawkeye turns his unseeing eyes to BJ, tear tracks gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the motel curtains. Blinks a few times, as if he's surprised to find BJ really there. Reaches out with a trembling hand to brush the tips of his fingers butterfly gentle against BJ's cheek.

“Beej?”

“Yeah, Hawk. I'm here.”

Hawkeye crumples forward into BJ's chest. And BJ holds him in his arms. Feels the silent sobs that wrack his skinny back.

“I dreamed that this was all a dream,” Hawkeye whispers into the join of BJ's neck. “That I'd lost you and I couldn't find you – no matter how much I looked and looked and looked.”

BJ gathers Hawkeye closer. “I'm right here, Hawkeye. And I'm not going anywhere.”

Hawkeye pulls away from BJ's arms. Looks up at him – and he looks, he looks sad and understanding and gentle. “Everyone leaves sometime, Beej. I won't hold it against you.”

And then Hawkeye's getting out of bed to go take a shower.

BJ feels strangely bereft without Hawkeye in his arms, so he busies himself getting ready to leave. It's still disgustingly early – the eastern sky just barely starting to turn pink – but it's not far to Los Angeles now. And BJ doesn't really want to spend any more time in this dingy, claustrophobic hotel room than he has to.

When they descend into Santa Monica, Hawkeye perks up from where he'd been sitting listless in the passenger seat. He practically has his head sticking out the window like Waggles does, staring out at the silvery gleam of sunlight on the ocean. Practically vibrating in his seat at the knowledge that they're getting close to the sandy beaches his heart desires.

BJ exits off of Route 5 and takes them through the wide boulevards and down to the beach.

Hawkeye grabs his arm on the steering wheel. “Look, Beej! Palm trees!”

“Yeah, Hawk. Just as advertised.” BJ smiles at Hawkeye fondly. His excitement is infectious. Buoying.

So different from his mood just a few hours earlier.

When they get to the actual beach, BJ has barely parked the car before Hawkeye's flinging himself out of it and down onto the sand. A cacophony of seagulls spirals into the sky, squawking at being disturbed by a six-foot plus lunatic sprinting towards the water.

BJ watches, amused and perplexed as Hawkeye starts throwing his clothes off with wild abandon, stripping until he's down to his skivvies, barely halting his headlong scramble towards the water. And he switches to genuine incredulity when the now mostly naked Hawkeye flings himself into the surf, struggling out past the breakers, until he's genuinely swimming in the marginally calmer water of the Pacific Ocean.

“Jesus Christ, Hawk,” BJ calls out to him from the beach. “Come back up here, you loon. You're going to get hypothermia.”

Hawkeye grins back at BJ as he floats serenely on his back, waves bobbing him gently up and down, hiding and revealing him from BJ's view. “Good thing I know a doctor then, huh Beej?”

But Hawkeye does eventually emerge from the water, shaking himself kind of dry – and splashing freezing water all over BJ's shirt. He's smiling big and genuine, and BJ thinks this whole trip was worth it just for this moment. Just to see Hawkeye look happy and unburdened and mischievous like he used to look. Like he looks in all of BJ's best memories of Korea.

BJ thinks he could stand to stick around Santa Monica a while longer. So they get Hawkeye dried off and bundled up in dry clothes and they head for a little cafe just off the beach so they can eat breakfast. By which BJ means he eats breakfast and Hawkeye drinks five cups of coffee and steals one piece of BJ's toast. But it's an improvement on yesterday morning.

And then they bum around the waterfront, stopping in at the little tourist traps, showing each other dumb knickknacks. Hawkeye discovers an especially hideous Hawaiian shirt at one of the stores - and almost talks BJ into buying it before common sense (and the thought of Peg's reaction) prevail. Hawkeye pouts, but grudgingly admits that a shirt covered in scantily clad hula girls might not be the best thing to bring home to one's wife. Though it's not like he knows what wives do or don't like, Beej, honestly. And BJ supposes that's true enough.

Eventually, it gets to be late enough in the day that other, far more sane people start gathering on the beach to swim or sunbathe or whatever. And Hawkeye takes this as his cue to drag BJ back to the sun and sand and palm trees he's so obsessed with. BJ goes willingly enough, truth be told – Hawkeye's led him far more terrible places than the Santa Monica public beach.

And it's nice to laze around in the sunshine with Hawkeye reading next to him, shaded by the parasol he'd brought along in his ratty army duffel. Honestly, BJ's heartened by the fact that Hawkeye planned this trip out well enough to bring things like swim trunks and sun block and a truly terrible pair of Groucho glasses instead of sunglasses. It makes all of this feel more like a prank and less like Hawkeye's unraveling again.

It makes BJ almost happy to remember all the trouble they used to get up to. Makes him able to tell stories back and forth with Hawkeye, able to quibble about the details when one of them insists the other had been responsible for whatever part of their prank had gone wrong. Hell, they even reminisce about _Charles_ , and that's someone BJ had been more than happy to never think about again.

Anyway, it's all really nice. A nice vacation from the real world.

But that's all it is. All it can ever be. Because he's got a wife and a kid and a life waiting back for him in San Francisco. And Hawkeye's probably got a half dozen girls waiting by the phone for him to call.

“C'mon, Hawk.” BJ claps his hands brusquely and stands. “We should probably start heading home if we want to get in by dinner time.”

Hawkeye looks up at him from behind those stupid, stupid glasses. And it's hard to tell, but he might just look as conflicted about leaving as BJ feels.

“Yeah, ok, Beej.” Hawkeye stands and brushes sand off of his trunks. Starts putting away his beach towel and umbrella. Knocks against BJ's shoulder, a friendly little nudge. “This sure was fun while it lasted, though. Kinda wish we could've stayed here forever.”

BJ nudges him back. Gets him moving in the direction of the car. “You can always come back again.”

Hawkeye smiles sadly. “It wouldn't be the same.”

And then they pile into the car to head back to San Francisco. Hawkeye stares out the window again, curled up against the passenger door. Obviously not feeling like talking any more. So BJ just concentrates on navigating the way home.

The drive goes much faster this time, probably because they don't stop anywhere. And because BJ's a little lost in thought. Seeing Hawkeye again has brought up a lot of memories he'd done his best to bury when he went home to Peg and Erin and real life. The station wagon's bench seats feel full of ghosts.

None more haunting than Hawkeye Pierce – famed in song and story – a half buried memory of the worst parts of BJ's life. And currently curled up in the front seat of BJ's car like the remnant of a terrible, wonderful dream. So he's got a lot to think about.

It's no wonder BJ startles when Hawkeye brings a gentle hand to his shoulder. They're home. And they've apparently been sitting in the driveway for a while if Hawkeye's teasing, “Nice of you to join us, Beej,” is any indication.

“Sorry, Hawk. Lost in thought.”

“Well, don't hurt yourself.” Hawkeye smiles bright and warm. Like the sun.

And then they're both turning sideways to face one another. Hawkeye's hand is still on BJ's shoulder, light but so, so heavy.

And then Hawkeye kisses him. Sweet and chaste and far too brief.

And BJ wants to cry at how right it feels. How much of a culmination of their entire tumultuous friendship it feels.

At how much it feels like goodbye.

“C'mon, Beej. Let's get you home.”

Hawkeye claps BJ with the hand on his shoulder, brusque and friendly. And Peg's standing on the front porch, waiting for him. And Hawkeye's got a Greyhound ticket back to Maine in his pocket.

They leave the car and head into the house.


End file.
